Backyard October

Last night in our backyard
The Steller’s Jays
Began sounding the alarm
In an orange limned sunset
All across the hillside
A predator maybe the Barred Owl
Had returned or maybe a house cat
It ended as quickly as it began
The sunset and the cawing
Dying away together

Singing in Cars

Before there were radios in cars
We sang
Kiddie heels on windows
Like garlic buds
Past orchards with ladders
Lungs on the tree shoulders
We wandered our side of the globe
Tiny firemen in Red Ball Keds
Angular fence birds in overalls
Who wouldn’t believe a calendar
That picked pockets like a conspirator?
Past the concrete dinosaurs
Past the tongue depressor river
Heavy with cancer that gave no report
Under the speechless clouds
One dish of breathless life
The doctor couldn’t cure
With a dark slap
Born talkers all
In a sheet metal schooner

Medic

Gagging on an apple
Each departing soul
A hopeful tent of oxygen
A bale of farther food
Moving like sea in a jar
If I could melt the maze of tongues
Shoveling out the Bibles
And the yellow daisies
Before the knees buckle
Waving away the transfer tube
I might be known as a purifier
Caulking up the Antichrist
Before the rain storms of April

But my spine runs on bourbon
And spite and green ice
Back and forth like an angry bird
Trembling I mark the spot
Where the air rudder goes
Until she gasps and circles back
A fermata in a wheelchair
Army wraparound shades propped up
Blind as my grandmother
On a snowy evening
Behind the leather padded
Doors of the US capital

Jordan

I am standing
I am divided
One foot still with a name
My veins like milk in a river
Nothing but locusts between them

Swoon of bright stars
Where have you gone?
I am a struck flint in a mineral pool

The mouth at the head of the field
  has fallen open
Oh for a valley of undried gods
Death
  I took you for a smaller stone

Ghazal for an Oilfield Town

The Ghazal Page has published one of my poems. The ghazal is an Arabic form that often expresses love and loss and the beauty that arises within both. This poem is about the grim beauty of the Bakken oilfields in North Dakota and people who work there.

Ghazal for an Oilfield Town

Fence Rail

the fence rail
wanders the country
like a whisk for
snow drifts

a cowboy
rides it all day
like a patient scholar

past fear
is always and always
and beyond is dread
and perhaps knowing

today he gives
one side a credit
and debits the other

Visitor

last night a Barred Owl
in the tree behind our house

like a Buddha
in prison clothes